


Breathless

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, IDK it sort of happened, Light BDSM, Public Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'What about an nsfw imagine where Paul uses the readers turn ons against her in public?' It sort of turned into weird half-assed breathplay.





	

“Did yeh have to wear that dress?”

The whisper comes in your ear as you take a sip of your champagne, and you smile, feeling your boyfriend’s arm wrap around your waist before he kisses your cheek.

“I’ve been lookin’ at yer legs all night,” Paul murmurs, and you wink at him. “Ah, love, yer a naughty girl, aren’t yeh.” He winks back, and you kiss him softly. “Got half a mind to punish yeh, actually…”

“Ooh, _sir_ ,” you purr quietly – you know that there are people around, after all, and if the knowledge got out of Paul and yours’ lifestyle, it’d be the end of him – and he leans close, mouth against your ear.

“Hold your breath. Two seconds.”

…what? You do so, and he grins.

“Five.”

You hold it for five seconds, and he nods.

“Ten.”

You hold your breath for ten seconds, and he nods, stroking his hand up your arm.

“Paul!” You turn, and see someone heading towards you – you think his name’s Mike, he’s in some band in America that’re on TV – and Paul leans in.

“Twenty.” You hold your breath, and as Mike – you think – reaches you, Paul grins and shakes his hand.

“Mike, gear. Mike, this is (Y/N), me bird…” He clears his throat, and you look away, still holding your breath. This is… difficult. It’s like when he chokes you – you feel yourself flush. “(Y/N), this is Michael Nesmith, he’s one of the Monkees, y’know, that American TV show band, like.”

“Pleasure,” Mike says, kissing your hand. “Paulie, man…” You exhale slowly, and Paul nods, holding up three fingers barely noticeably. Thirty seconds would’ve seemed like nothing – what it’s building up to is making you tingle a little. You steel yourself, and hold your breath, as Mike talks about you and Paul visiting him and his wife, Phyllis; you wonder if you fail, what will happen, and Mike turns to you. “…ain’t that right?” he grins, and Paul nods.

“Yeah,” you say, and as you go to hold your breath for the remaining ten seconds you realise how much breath that simple word wasted. Your chest is a little tight, and you exhale deeply before breathing back in.

“Pleasure anyhow. See y’all around,” Mike nods, and kisses your hand again before shaking Paul’s. Paul pulls you close as he walks off, and kisses you.

“It’s gonna get harder from here, love. I love how panicked yeh looked when yeh had to talk,” he smirks, and you tingle between your thighs. “Next time, a minute…” You are tapped on the shoulder, and John beams at you.

“Hey love. Bought yeh some champagne. Nothing for you, Paulie, these are both mine,” he says, and Paul raises an eyebrow at you. You hold your breath, and begin to count to sixty in your head – something strikes you that you don’t have to do this, and your unswerving loyalty to your master makes you shiver a little. He has such complete control… you see him lick his lips over John’s shoulder, and then realise John has just said something.

“Sorry?” you ask, and feel your chest tighten just a little. You’re more than capable of holding your breath.

“I was just sayin’, after, we’re all gonna go back mine, Cyn’s got some wine,” he grins. “Jules is at Mimi’s for a stay, poor little bastard, so…” You nod, trying to pretend your chest isn’t getting a little tighter with every second. “What do yeh think, (Y/N)?”

You are at fifty seconds and you feel a little… panicked.

“Great,” you say, and the last seven seconds of tightness block out whatever John is saying – as you take a deep breath, he looks at you oddly.

“You alright, (Y/N)?” he asks, and you nod quickly, breathing a little indiscreetly through your nose. “Yeh seem…”

“I’m fine!” you say, a little too quickly, and John nods, looking a little baffled, before kissing your cheek and leaving. Paul sips the champagne, and grins at you, as you stare at him. Your chest is heaving, and you feel the ghost of his hand at your throat – you raise yours, and he grins at you.

“Do yeh think yeh could try a minute thirty?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Oh, little one…” You hate him calling you that almost as much as you love it. “I think you can.”

“Paul, please,” you say quietly, and he pushes up close to you – this time, no comforting arm around the waist. He’s a little scary like this – those laurel eyes are intense and more than a little frightening.

“90 seconds, love,” he murmurs, and you take a sip of your champagne and swallow, before inhaling. “Now, let’s walk over here, love.” He guides you, and you realise that movement severely limits your breath-holding. He wouldn’t let you pass out, would he? Would you let yourself pass out? Would he punish you? “Trust me,” he murmurs, and you feel your heart begin to pound. He leads you over to where George and Ringo are having a lively debate next to the buffet. Thankfully, he does not get you to join in, and with a ‘Hi’ to both of them that wastes more of your oxygen than you’d like, Paul is joining in the debate, which appears to be relating to the buffet’s lack of scotch eggs. You stand there, teeth gritted – the fact you are concentrating on timing yourself makes the seconds drag, and as your chest tightens, you grip the buffet table. Thirty five seconds?! Is that all? You make it to fifty and your chest aches – you feel almost a suction in your throat, and looking up, you see Paul watching you. You can’t make it.

“(Y/N)?”

Pattie is there – you smile a little too glassily at her, and she smiles back.

“Isn’t it amazing here tonight?” she gushes, and you nod. One minute. Thirty seconds. You feel like clawing at your throat, but those eyes are burning you, and you hold it together. If you were drowning, would you give up so easily? You’re burning… so you can’t. “Isn’t everyone pretty?” You nod again. “Were you speaking to Mike Nesmith?” You nod, beaming a little too widely again, and she giggles. “He’s cute, right? What did you talk about?”

You open your mouth and realise you are about to lose all your remaining air on whatever you say. Paul is watching.

“He invited us to Texas.” One fifteen. Fifteen seconds to go and he’ll be proud – he might even reward you… you smile as Pattie talks about how Mike’s bandmate Peter has asked her and Geo over to see him.. Ten. Nine. Eight… god, it hurts, but pleasing him is so important… seven. Six. Five… you are going to break. His hands around your neck… Four. Three. Two… You close your eyes, and take a deep gasping desperate breath as Paul slides his arm around your waist.

“Are you okay?” he asks, feigning concern, and you nod.

“It’s a bit… warm,” you murmur, and he kisses your cheek, before winking at Pattie, who laughs at the two of you. “Just got a bit flushed.” She nods, and breezes past towards the canapes, leaving you to clutch onto Paul.

“You did it. I’m dead proud of yeh, love,” he murmurs, and you lean into him. “I knew yeh could push yehself.” You tingle at earning his praise, and he puts his mouth to your ear. “Yeh get something special tonight. C’mon, love. Let’s go ‘ome, like.”


End file.
